


Sisters and Brothers

by hightechzombie



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 11:48:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1817461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hightechzombie/pseuds/hightechzombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-Outlast.</p><p>Waylon Park is paged for a routine job. This is the first encounter between him and Jeremy Blaire, but it won't be the last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sisters and Brothers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Foxda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxda/gifts).



Entering the office, Waylon was taken aback how expensive everything looked. After working for weeks in dampy sub-basement rooms, he had already forgotten that not everyone had to abandon the world of luxuries when entering Mount Massive Asylum. The room had large windows with dark wood frames, a solid desk and chair furnished with black leather. Didn't smell like disinfectant in here either.

The boss-hotshot was leaning against a table and energetically talking on the mobile phone. Noticing Waylon, he gave the curtest nod and pointed towards the computers before blacking him out entirely. Waylon was used to being ignored or disrespected by people who hired him and - you know - relied on his knowledge and skill, but this attitude pissed him off more than usual.

He tried not let it show and approached the working place. The huge monitor in the middle was guarded by two smaller ones, all connected to a futuristic monster of a computer. From Waylon's experience, the fancier and the more flashing lightbulbs the computer had, the more technologically inept the owner was.

"What?"

Waylon looked up, assuming the man was talking to him.

"No, that is not working. Double the staff and cut the fat..." the man went quiet in the middle of the sentence. "Cut the fat where needed. Business isn't for the meek... You know, I grow tired of whining. Call Sanders if you can't do the job."

Listening with one ear, Waylon tried to focus on work. On the corner of the table there were several laptops stacked upon each other. Waylon hesitatingly opened them and placed on whatever free space the table had to offer. He'd been paged to go to office number 1.23 for virus-scan and data extraction, but he expected to receive further instructions on site. Yet the prick in a suit was too busy to even spend a few seconds explaining what to do.

The boss-guy burst in laughter. Waylon's shoulders tensed and then relaxed, realizing that the the dude couldn't read his mind. What's so damn funny about a business chat, anyway?

The laptops took time to load and one crashed halfway through. Waylon noticed that almost all of them had scratches or dents in one way or another. What's the story here? They looked like typical company issued hardware. Did some employees mess around or went into a tantrum over being fired?

After booting up, Waylon let the virus scan do its work. He absent-mindedly scratched with a fingernail against a rusty spot on the laptop casing and was surprised to see the red flake come off.

"How's it going?"

Waylon almost flinched, when a hand pressed down on his shoulder. He turned his head to look at the smiling prick, who looked absolutely oblivious of such a thing like personal boundaries.

"The scan is..." Waylon glanced at the monitor, "Yes, at least one is finished. Do you need me to copy the files to your computer or..?"

"Not to my computer." The boss stopped smiling. "Transfer all files to one laptop and dump it on the harddrive. But we wouldn't need you if that was all. You restore deleted files and check whether there is any hidden files to be found. Anyway, you know it better than me."

Yeah, tech monkey, you just do your job. Leave the money-making to the true professionals.

"Okay... should I take them to my place? It would be faster and probably more efficient... and I wouldn't want to bother you."

"No, no. You do it here. Confidential data. I would like to keep an eye on such things. You have an hour and I suggest you get to work."

Waylon licked his lips, knowing that arguing for more time is useless. It seemed that at Mount Massive everybody believed, that if you feed people enough money, they will suddenly be able to do miracles in impossible time.

Funny thing, but when crazy doctors breath down your neck, Waylon did often found himself doing just that.

"Yes, sir."

After several weeks, Waylon gradually figured out the naming system. Security footage was abbreviated as SRF, medical files were divided on type of patient and mental illness and therefore had long strings of numbers after the initial MR. There were of course many other files and programs... but what was important, that you could identify, what position the person held just by looking at their computer.

This laptop belonged to a doctor. Considering how many files were passwors protected, probably one way up the chain. Second computer was a security officer's. Third was... a janitor's? Either way, a lot of cat photos and a few Word documents with to-do lists. Perhaps a crazy sophisticated code for something. Or it's just a guy who is into cats.

What a weird mash-up of laptops. Waylon had finished the janitor's and guard's laptops as the very first. The doc's comp was a hard nut and Waylon fully concentrated on cracking the passwords and recovering data. Halfway through, he stumbled on work correspondence, finally figuring out the owner's name. Andrea Zucker. A woman, huh. Waylon hasn't seen a single one in Mount Massive, which might have something to do with the recent shutdown of the female ward.

Restoring files didn't seem to go right for some reason. Waylon glanced at the clock and noticed he was twenty minutes over time limit. Luckily, the boss was absorbed in staring at his own laptop on his knees, leaned back on his black leather sofa (God, did the guy have a fixation with black leather or something?).

Either way, each formerly deleted video kept coming up wrong. No solution he could think off seemed to work. Perhaps those files were compressed wrong and then deleted, just after Zucker realized her mistake?

"Are you done?" drily asked someone.

Waylon had been extensively trained in the last weeks not to jump each time someone sneaked up on him to ask about progress. He slowly turned his head to look at the boss. A bored look on the face and hands deep in pockets. Don't waste my time, kid. That's what the pose was radiating.

"Yes, almost... there is just this one problem with the videos. They are not really watchable..."

"Are they," the guy drew out the syllables, "Let me see them first."

Waylon shrugged and clicked on the first best. Static came up, then a white room with a lone patient appeared. The image started tearing and only short glimpses came through. After that, static again until white and black shapes surfaced through the chaos. They expanded and deflated and merged into each other.

The boss nodded, expression unchanging.

"Now can you sort them by date?"

"Date of deletion or creation?"

"You can find when it was deleted? Good, I'd like you to do that for each... But that's for later, for now try looking for a video recorded on 6th September."

Waylon nodded. A few mouse clicks later, he was scanning through the list until he found it.

"There are two of them. One at 2 am, the second at 7 pm."

"Hmm. Show the first one."

Static again. Yet, just a few second later a scruffy woman appeared, recording from a dark bedroom. She was staring into the webcam, looking tired. Her nighttime shirt vaguely reminded Waylon of Liza, but hell, almost anything reminded him of Liza these days.

"I don't know," Andrea said, "I honestly can't remember why I thought this to be a good idea. You look at them until one day you see a mirror. The fear, the misery... it's in the walls and in the water. I can't sleep."

The woman's voice dropped and she pressed her forehead against the table. There was a short silence, then she kept talking, her voice muffled.

"This place kills. But I thought it wouldn't touch me, not... never me. Yet even science is wrong sometimes, so horribly horribly wrong..."

Waylon heard her breathing fasten, then the woman raised her head and blinked away the tears.

"I can't sleep."

Andrea reached out and turned off the webcam.

"Enlightening," commented the boss after a pause, "Now the second one."

Waylon swallowed as subtly as possible and clicked on the next video. Just now, it felt weird to see his own discomfort be mirrored in that woman's face. Tortured with insomnia, sick and tired of this place... Waylon did not reach that point yet, but he's only been here for a few weeks. It made one wonder...

With a bun and doctor's uniform, Andrea was not immediately recognizable. She approached the table and laid down note book before sitting down. The upper half of the wall was glass and showed the female patient in the next room. A single chair, beton walls and a steel door. The patient's arms were restrained by a safety jacket and she did not move.

Andrea adjusted the microphone and quietly cleared her throat, before turning it on.

"Hello, Sophie. I don't want to make appointments at this hour a habit, but you wished to talk to me. Rather badly, as I was told."

Sophie slowly blinked and her shoulders slumped. She looked as if she was trying to crawl inside of herself. Shoulder long hair obscured her face.

Andrea did not seem frustrated by the lack of an answer, tapping her pen on the table and intently examining her patient.

"Sophie, I want you to tell me something. I love hearing you talk, you remember? We need to break the silence to rescue you. Like breaking ice to..."

"... save a drowning child," Sophie's voice was emotionless, "I know."

Andrea dropped the pen and leaned forwards, placing her elbows on the table.

"You told me you'd help me. Ice broken, hello piss smelling mattresses. Hello, beton."

"I know, Sophie. It bothers me as much as you, but we cannot release you..."

Sophie snorted and then pulled up her legs to press them against the body. It looked like an uncomfortable position, on a wobbly chair no less.

"Doctor... Andrea. You've given me all help you could, thrown hundreds of ropes into the cold water. But you forgotten something."

Sophie leaned her head to the side and hissed:

"To give a goddamn tug."

"Metaphors don't hold if you keep expanding them. What do you want from me?"

"I don't trust you!" snapped Sophie, "I don't trust any of you doctors! You tell and tell me so many words, so much bullshit until those ropes are all around! You don't mean it. You want me to keep lapping and trying to get out, but you'll never let me. What's the last time you released people? You only release them to the med-ward."

Andrea shook her head, but didn't say anything. Sophie was breathing fast and staring at the one-way mirror with burning eyes.

"What happened, Sophie? They told me you were anxious and crying. Something happened... and now you don't want to tell me."

"Fuck you."

Andrea looked tired. Absentmindedly, she pulled up her leg to place on her own chair, then hastily put it back on the floor, recognizing that she mimicked Sophie's pose.

"I know, Sophie. After swallowing so much pain and misery, it is easy to believe that someone else is to blame. That we sabotage your recovering process, that we are the monsters torturing you and putting nightmares in your sleep," Andrea hesitated for a second, Waylon saw that, "I can't sleep either. I feel like in a cage and I want to flee like a trapped animal. But it's wrong. This is a place to help people and I will do that. We are at the frontier of psychological science. There is nothing we can't do."

Sophie rocked on hair chair, grimly looking underneath her bangs.

"I am trying to say, Sophie, that you can trust me. I certainly trust you."

"Then come here," whispered Sophie, "Come here where I might believe you."

Andrea looked shocked and blinked in rapid succession.

"Where? Into your _cell_?"

Sophie hoarsely laughed and put her chin on her knees. She didn't answer.

"This breaks protocol. More than one, in fact."

"You told me, I looked like your sister," said Sophie, "Did you lie, misses Doctor? Was that one lie out of many?"

"Don't try to guilt trip me. It's a toxic habit that you need to unlearn."

Sophie rolled her eyes, still smiling.

"God, alright. Please don't tell anybody a word about this. At the very best I'll get stern reprisal."

Sophie whispered something unintelligible, her eyes losing focus. Andrea stood up and picked up her notes, then after a moment's thought put them back. Placing an arm on her waist, she looked as if she was either trying to remember something or to collect herself. Eventually, Andrea shook herself awake and exited the observation room.

Half a minute later, the metal door swung open and Andrea entered Sophie's domain. Sophie turned her hand to look at the visitor like an alert animal. The silence filled awkwardly the room.

"Stupid bitch," whispered the boss. When he caught Waylon's shocked glance, he just nodded towards the screen. "Keep watching. You'll see what I mean."

"Here I am," said Andrea, "Please tell what happened, Sophie."

Sophie stood up and took a step towards the woman.

"Show where the nasty guard touched you, huh? No, doc. I just took a shower today and a shadow passed me by."

"What are you talking about?"

"Shadows, shadows... Long, dark and hard against flesh. Where is Tabea? You won't find her in the records anymore. She was flushed down the drain, pulpy meat and crushed fucking bones. The shower room is a good place to die. The body leaves no trace."

"Sophie... you aren't making sense. Can you try..."

"No time to try," Sophie shook her head, approaching closer, "I need you to release me. I won't be a womb to monsters and I won't die here. Release me!"

Fear showed itself on Andrea's face and she grabbed the door handle. Sophie noticed it. With a growl she slammed with shoulder against the woman. Sophie strained to break the restraints and free her arms, but even without them, she was higher and stronger than Andrea.

"How many have died, because you couldn't open your stupid eyes?!" shouted Sophie, "Look! You can't ignore...!"

Andrea managed to push Sophie away and stagger away for a few steps, but the psycho woman came after her immediately. With a strong kick, she sent the doctor down on the floor.

"Frontier? Precious fucking frontier? You reap the fruits from tree grown on blood and bones! Fucking open your eyes and don't you dare to lie to me!"

Andrea moaned, while Sophie flipped her over on her back and kicked her in the stomach. Another cry of pain. Sophie down sat on Andrea and began shouting in her face.

"You can't save them! You can't even save your own hide, you stupid cow! But you can save me! Take me away from here!"

Andrea wriggled on the floor, crying and trying to beg. Sophie jerked her head impatiently and headbutted the doctor hard.

"Listen to me. Just listen. Do what I say and we'll get out. We both will be saved."

Suddenly Sophie screamed like a banshee and bit Andrea's upper arm. Andrea flinched and dropped the pager from her pocket. She tried to get help, realized Waylon.

"You bitch! You fucking bitch!"

Sophie spit blood, then stared with incredulity at the flashing pager and laughed out bitterly.

"You killed us. You fucking killed us both," Sophie let out a last chuckle and then started sobbing, "Fuck you, Andrea... fuck you, fuck you... Why couldn't you just listen?"

"Sophie, please... we can fix everything. Everything will be fine..."

"No salvation for Tabea... sucked down the hungry drain to feed the blood river. No salvation for me. No salvation for you, you stupid girl," Sophie's voice changed to a purr, "Let's die together. Let's die before the shadows find us and make us mothers."

"Sophie, wait..!"

Sophie lunged forward like a snake and bit Andrea's cheek. A shrill scream pierced the silence. Terrified, Andrea wailed, while teeth pulled at her skin, and then Waylon heard the faint sound of tearing. He felt sick, but couldn't pull away. Blood gushed from the wound and Sophie bit again.

Somehow Andrea managed take together her strength and land a punch on Sophie's temple. With another desperate effort Andrea shook Sophie of her and scrambled to her feet. Sophie growled and plunged after her, but Andrea kicked the psycho away from herself. The doctor dashed towards the door and with shaking hands somehow managed to open it.

Sophie was on her feet by the time, when the guards burst through the door, sweeping Andrea to the side. The men hit Sophie hard and threw her to the floor. They kicked her, hit with the batons over and over again even as Sophie curled up and started sobbing. Nobody paid attention to Andrea, who stood aside, holding her cheek and staring wide-eyed at the beating.

A few minute later, the floor around Sophie was covered in pink footprints.

Andrea stood like a statue and did not resist, when another guard arrived and led her away. Soon after, technician entered the observation room and turned of the camera.

The recording turned black. Waylon heard himself breathing.

"Just as I said," commented the boss in conversational tone. "What a stupid bitch."

"What the hell," blurted out Waylon, "How can you say that?!”

"That's what she is," said the man with a smile, that did not reach his eyes. "She is stupid and she is a bitch. Her stupidity almost killed, whereas the bitch part got her fired. Whatever objections she had with corporate guidelines, Zucker should have never tried to tamper with the firm's property."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. She left a mess behind, but the details are, mister Park, a teeny tiny bit classified. Either way, I almost feel this video should be uploaded and used for educational purposes."

" _Educational_ purposes?"

"Yes, mister Park. She made a stupendous blunder and paid for it. Many new employees would learn much from this... encounter."

Where did this "mister Park" even come from? How did the guy know his name? Oh, right. The nameplate.

"Well, it was unprofessional, but... that just happens sometimes. It's hard to tell how those people will react to anything."

"'Just happens'? Mister Park, I see, that you still do not understand." The boss put his hand on the table and leaned closer to Waylon, who fought the urge to back away. "Zucker made a fatal mistake, when she dropped her veil of authority. The inmate reminded Zucker of a sister. A sister! There are not sisters and no brothers here. These people are locked away _for a reason_."

"That reason is to heal them. Fix whatever is wrong with them," suddenly spoke up Waylon.

"No, no, Mr. Park." The man shook his head. "Some people just _are_ that way. You need to remember that, before you climb the fence to comfort the hurting tiger."

Waylon remembered the huddled figure in the side corridor, the black boots of guards, the meaty thuds, the whimper. Waylon was carrying heavy equipment and his co-worker told him to hurry, so he walked on. But almost, he didn't.

Was that right? Then why did he feel so sick each time when this memory resurfaced?

"Then why? Why are you maintaining an asylum if there is nothing to be gained from it?"

"Public safety. Personal safety of the patients. Medical advance. Would you really call those things 'nothing'?"

Everything the boss said, every matter-of-fact argument, pissed Waylon off even further. He felt like arguing, even if there was nothing to be gained from it. Taking a breath, Waylon thought of Liza and said:

"No, sir. You are right."

"Good." Wrinkles formed around the man's eyes in an unusually earnest smile. "I hope you will take my words to heart, mister Park. This is a dangerous place to stray from the herd."

Waylon mumbled something confirmatory and stared at the laptops.

"You can go now. The main work is done and I have an urgent meeting in a few minutes..."

"Yes, sir." Waylon grabbed his flashstick and hurried to stand up.

"Oh, and..." Waylon turned around to face the boss, who called out to him, "Be a good sheeple and don't go "baaaa" about the data you saw here."

"Will do."

To hell with this place. Waylon felt a surge of relief once the door behind him closed. He felt like he escaped a trap, however stupid that sounded. What was that prick's problem? Was this really just a regular tech job? It felt more like a test, as if the guy was playing a really shitty mindgame with him.

Waylon wasn't sure whether he lost or won. He did take a closer look at the plate near the door and the name that was written on it.

"Jeremy Blaire". Certainly, a name to remember.

 

 


End file.
